


press your space face close to mine, love

by watchtheleaves



Category: Boy Meets World
Genre: Autistic Shawn Hunter, Lots of it, M/M, Pining, autistic cory matthews, for liv ONLY, idk its really soft they love each other sm, non binary shawn hunter, oh I forgot, the planetarium fic :D!!, turner and eli adopted shawn ! hell yeah, umm shawn loves the stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26245834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchtheleaves/pseuds/watchtheleaves
Summary: for their seventeenth birthday, cory gives shawn the stars.
Relationships: Shawn Hunter/Cory Matthews
Comments: 9
Kudos: 49





	press your space face close to mine, love

**Author's Note:**

> HI I LOVE THIS FIC SOOO MUCH !! i hope you guys enjoy it too. <3
> 
> no trigger warnings!! title is from david bowie’s “moonage daydream”.

After being friends for sixteen years, Shawn can safely say a handful of things about Cory Matthews. They take pride in thinking they know more about Cory than anyone, which is probably true—Shawn knows for a fact that no one has put as much energy into looking at Cory, even from behind, even from across the room, as they have. It’s almost as if their eyes have always been drawn to Cory, no matter what, for whatever reason.

The point is that Shawn knows Cory better than anyone. If they had to talk about him—which they do on more occasions than they can count (to John, to Eli, to Jack, to Topanga, to Angela, to the mailman)—Shawn would say Cory is caring, smart, funny in his unique way.

Shawn would not, however, say Cory is in any shape or form unpredictable.

It’s not an insult; it’s a compliment. Where Shawn is a spur-of-the-moment act-now-think-later person, Cory likes to have a plan, to ask for permission, to stick to the rules as much as possible. He brings balance to Shawn’s force, and that’s a good thing more than anything. But it means, in the end, that Cory is predictable. Shawn likes that.

They think it has something to do with the fact that Cory was the first person in their life to stay put. Their father, their mother, even their home. Shawn’s first constant was Cory, and there’s a sense of security that comes from that fact, even sixteen years later.

(Those are more Topanga’s words implanted in their brain. They make sense regardless—when has Topanga not made sense?)

The constant that Cory represents is something Shawn doesn’t think they will ever be thankful for enough. Deem them clingy or cheesy, if that’s what it takes, but sometimes Shawn thinks about how Cory never left them, how Cory always loved them even when they didn’t feel like they deserved it, how for sixteen years Cory has looked at them with a look that makes them—

Shawn’s breath catches as soon as a knock on their window pulls them from their sleep. Soon enough, they’re sitting in a right angle and white-knuckling their sheets.

It’s Cory. Even in the shadows, Shawn sees him. Their mind slips out of the foggy state of fear as fast as it slipped into it. They exhale and let panic wash away from their body as their best friend sneaks clumsily inside their room.

He looks remorseful, which means Shawn still looks like they’re about to have a heart attack. They need to work on that.

“Sorry,” he half-whispers. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Shawn says, shaking their head. Cory’s wearing a red-and-blue striped t-shirt, and he sports a backpack that’s different from the one he wears to school. Shawn then catches a glance at the clock, and it’s, “Cor, what are you doing here? It’s six in the morning.”

They begin to scan for wounds or anything _wrong_ before stopping themself—this is Cory. Nothing _wrong_ could ever happen to Cory. The Universe knows boundaries. It’s that and the grin—somewhat nervous, yet weirdly confident—that’s plastered on their best friend’s face that allows Shawn to relax slightly.

“I know,” Cory says. “Get dressed.”

Shawn perks an eyebrow but doesn’t protest. “It’s a Thursday,” they say instead.

“I know,” Cory repeats.

“We have school on Thursdays.”

“That’s crazy,” he says absently, glancing out the window. “Hurry, will you? I left the car alone, and if anything happens to it, my dad will not show mercy.”

They find a pair of pants and a t-shirt lying around—the sun isn’t entirely up, yet, and something tells them they shouldn’t turn on the lights or do anything to wake up John or Eli. They don’t know if they should put on a hoodie, because Shawn is naturally bad at reading behavior and, by the way Cory is acting, the two could either be going out for an hour-long ride around town or they could go away for a week.

Cory turns to look at them, expectant, just as Shawn is sliding a red hoodie over their head. As soon as they’re all dressed, they look at Cory and wait for his approval.

He seems to take a pause, then, as if he momentarily forgets he’s in a hurry. He eyes Shawn up and down as if they’re wearing anything interesting and not an oversized hoodie and some jeans. Shawn tilts their head, confusion growing by the minute. Cory then snaps out of his trance and nods, pointing at the window.

“Good. Let’s go,” he says.

Shawn thinks they must be stuck inside an alternate universe because what leaves their mouth next is:

“Wait. I need to leave a note.”

Cory turns from where he’s glancing down from the five-stories height and blinks. “What?”

“A note,” Shawn repeats. They feel their ears heat up as they run a hand through their hair. The pillow left marks on their left cheek. “To let John know I’m gone.”

For a moment, they think Cory’s going to laugh or protest or simply not believe them. What he does, however, is step back inside and nod at them.

“Okay. You go, I’ll write the note.”

He’s starting to look around for pen and paper when Shawn hands a pencil to him. “Why can’t I write it? Just tell me where we’re going.”

Cory looks up from where he’s doubled over the desk and smiles knowingly.

“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

The inside of Cory’s (well, Alan’s) car is warm, and it results in comfort for Shawn who’s still blinking away a dream when they step out of the building. March isn’t as cold as January or February, but the sun still is barely out and Shawn finds that if they weren’t walking beside Cory and too busy wondering where they’ll be spending the rest of their day, they would probably be shaking like a leaf and two degrees away from freezing to death.

In fact, Shawn doesn’t realize they’re cold until they slide into the front passenger seat and exhale a foggy breath. Cory looks at them and he’s smiling, which must mean nothing bad can happen. It’s not like Shawn would leave if it was any other way, but Cory’s smile does weird and fantastic things to them, and they like to be the direct receiver of it.

They are, more often than not. Shawn is just not the greatest observant.

“Sorry I woke you,” says Cory once again. Shawn shrugs.

“It’s okay,” they say. They don’t ask for a reason, because something in Cory’s manners tells them they won’t get any sort of answer. Instead, they look out the window with their chin resting on their palms and sigh. “I like the stars.”

Cory smiles—Shawn sees it from the corner of their eye.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shawn says. “I mean, I always like the sky. It just looks so different right now—before sunrise, you know?”

As Cory starts the car, he looks at them quickly, nodding along. He has proven himself a worthy listener of Shawn’s many star-related rambles. He seems to enjoy it for reasons that escape Shawn’s knowledge, but as he gives them a sign to keep talking, they find that it’s nice to talk to someone like that.

“Like,” they start. Their eyes are anchored to a particularly bright star in the fading night sky. “Twilight is just—so cool. It’s not fully night or day, it’s just illumination. Sunlight scattered in the atmosphere. It’s like there’s always some sort of light, so the Earth is never all lit or all dark.”

They breathe. One time, Cory mentioned that Shawn’s eyes sparkle when they talk about the sky. They wonder if that’s what they look like now.

“I just think that’s cool,” they mutter, finally.

“It is cool,” Cory says, kind. “You should write about that.

 _I did_. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”

The radio is turned on at a low enough volume to only fill in the silence the two comfortably slip into as Philadelphia becomes brighter. The sun is already up by the time they reach the center of town and Shawn is starting to regret not packing some sort of breakfast.

Cory stops the car. It’s 6:50 AM, according to the weatherman, and the sun is already nicely shining over the buildings. Shawn looks at their best friend with a question in their eyes.

“Wait right here,” is all he says. Then, he exits the car and leaves Shawn before they can ask anything at all.

Shawn turns up the volume, now, because they like it more than the sounds of the city. The station they were previously listening to is now blasting _Un-Break My Heart_ , and Shawn decides that it’s too early in the morning for that level of intensity. The next song they find is _Every Time I Close My Eyes_.

“Crappy year to be in love,” Shawn scoffs under their breath.

They let the song play as they look at their surroundings. There’s an old wallet in the back passenger seat, and the windows are foggy from the clash of temperatures. Shawn doesn’t remember being this cold in days.

A knock on the window makes Shawn jump, and _God_ , they need to stop doing that.

Shawn reaches and opens the door for their best friend, who is now juggling with two cups and a wallet to get inside the car with the minimum number of casualties. Shawn helps him by grabbing the wallet and then reaching again to close the door behind Cory.

Physical proximity can do wonders when one is cold and yearning.

“What’ve you got there?” They ask, rather obviously.

Cory smiles. “Breakfast,” he announces, reading the tag in one of the cups before handing it to Shawn.

As they read the tag themself, their heart skips a beat. “You know my coffee order?”

“Why, yes, dear,” Cory nods, fastening his seatbelt before sipping off his beverage and humming in pleasure. “Well, technically, it’s not coffee, it’s tea.”

Shawn bites back a smile because they refuse to be that person. Instead, they read the tag over and over again to make sure it’s stored correctly and completely in that part of their brain that keeps and treasures all things Cory. When their best friend looks at them questioningly, they clear their throat and sip from the cup, glancing at the road and then the sky.

They feel like a human pillow. Light as a feather, comfortable, soft. Really, Shawn bites back a smile because they’re in love, and that’s a passion that wears them out all too often.

If the tea tastes even better than usual, that’s probably just a coincidence.

It’s well into 7:45 AM by the time Shawn realizes they’re leaving Philadelphia. Cory isn’t looking at any sort of map to check his directions, and it’s at that point that Shawn wonders if everything that’s happening is only an elaborate dream. Maybe they crashed their bike or walked into a tree and fell into a coma, or maybe—

“This isn’t a college trip, is it?” Shawn asks, fully turning to Cory. “Because, Cor, I’d really appreciate it if we stopped going to knock on the door of every single college in the state. I promised I’m going to look into it, so we don’t have to—”

“It’s not a college trip,” Cory says, grinning. Shawn exhales and rests back against their seat. “But you did promise to look into schools, and I’m not gonna let you off the hook with that. Neither is Turner. Or Feeny. Or Angela. I don’t think my mom would be too pleased to hear about it, either.”

A smile grows on Shawn’s face at how easily Cory enumerates a list of people that care about them. It’s a feeling they’re not acquainted with just yet.

“Okay,” they say. “So, where are we going? Why are we leaving town?”

No answer. Just a reporter talking in the faint background about baseball scores.

“Cory.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It would ruin the surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Shawn protests, uneasy. They even pout a little, ever the expert in having Cory Matthews wrapped around their finger—not that they’re aware of that, of course. Not completely.

Cory stops at a red light and turns to look at them. “Do you trust me, Shawnie?”

Shawn gulps. “Of course.”

“With your life?”

“With my life,” they nod.

Cory smiles and turns back to the road. “Then, trust me with this. You’re gonna like it.”

It’s a pity that they’re not lying, that they can’t lie to Cory that way. Shawn has trusted him for longer than they have trusted themself. They would follow Cory like he’s Captain America leading them into the jaws of death. Shawn would follow Cory anywhere and that’s what makes their situation so terrifying—the thought that they would do all that for someone who doesn’t feel half as strongly.

Oh, well.

By the time Cory stops the car, it’s 9:25 AM and they’re in the middle of a discussion about who in The Fantastic Four would beat the Hulk in a fight. Shawn is so into it that the sudden cessation of movement makes them frown because they momentarily forgot they were in the car in the first place.

Rubbing his hands with what seems to be a sudden amount of nerves, Cory turns to Shawn once again and it makes their chest tighten. There’s something in his face, his body language, that tells Shawn they should brace themself for what’s about to come next.

What Cory says is: “I know you don’t like your birthday.”

Shawn looks at him in silence as a thousand words rush inside their mind. This is Cory. Cory, who has a passion for big parties and demonstrations of affection and loves to make everything a big deal, who invites people over for lunch even when there’s no occasion, who genuinely enjoys talking to everyone.

A silent beg forms in the back of Shawn’s throat. That’s Cory’s way of doing things, not Shawn’s. They had been naïve for expecting him to forget about their birthday, but they’re hoping with everything in their power that on the other side of the car door isn’t some sort of giant surprise party in their honor waiting to be thrown.

“And I know this is stupid. I know you don’t like big celebrations, but I still wanted to do something, you know? I mean, you’re turning seventeen and—and we’re almost seniors, now, right? And I know that doesn’t mean anything, but we can’t know for sure that it doesn’t, and once we’re in college you could find new friends or something could happen and I just don’t think we should spend one of your last birthdays in high school just eating pizza in your living room.”

An exhalation. Shawn’s head is spinning and still processing the block of words when Cory gathers enough air to add:

“So, I brought you to the museum.”

The birds are chirping, and they’re surrounded by a small zone of green grass that looks so bright it seems to have forgotten it’s still winter. Shawn can hear their heartbeat in their ears as they see the limits of the Reading Public Museum standing tall and proud behind Cory.

“The museum,” they repeat.

“Yeah,” Cory says, anxious. “Why? Is that bad?”

Shawn wants to kiss him. The feeling makes little flowers grow on the tip of their fingers.

Philadelphia has plenty of museums. Shawn knows Cory knows this. As they walk side by side in comfortable-yet-omissive silence, however, they decide to not bring this up. That’s Cory’s part of the act: the part that is grand and shows that Cory really cares—cares enough to skip school, to drive them to Reading, to buy Shawn breakfast, and listen to them talk about the stars whenever it’s pressing. Cory needs to be grand whenever he loves someone.

It hurts, in a way, because Shawn has never seen him do anything like that for Topanga. They wonder, as Cory pays four dollars for each of their tickets, how it would be to be Topanga, how Cory would be like if that love was anything more than just friendly. They ache for that for long enough and then Cory turns back to them with a smile.

It’s not so bad to be Shawn, they then decide. Not if it gets them this.

They walk around the different floors and Cory is even wearing his glasses, which is the rarest sight—Shawn can count five times they’ve seen him wear them. It’s a shame and a miracle because if Shawn had to feel how they’re feeling right now more often in their life, it would be next to completely unbearable to be Cory’s friend.

Damn him. Damn those glasses.

“Look! Chess!” Cory exclaims.

Shawn perks an eyebrow, but their best friend is already rushing towards the kids-oriented zone of the museum, where the walls and floor of a particular room are wallpapered with black and white squares that simulate a chess board. Cory jumps up and down as he points at his surroundings.

Walking towards them, Shawn smiles to themself. “You okay, Cor?”

“Yeah,” he says, still examining the walls. “I just love chess.”

“I know. Hey,” they nod towards a table near them. “Wanna play?”

It’s one of Cory’s favorite things in the world, chess and everything about it. He loves the rules and the strategy and he even beat Mr. Feeny once or twice, so there isn’t much wonder as to why exactly he defeated Shawn so easily.

(Cory loves to win, so Shawn loses with ease. They even feel like they won something, with how big Cory smiles for the rest of the morning.)

There are exhibits about important painters and poets and Cory drags Shawn through every single one of them. They make childish comments and immature jokes about the most valuable pieces of art the museum has to offer, and when they step out for some fresh air, both their faces are red from laughing and they’re still jittering and giggling.

The sun is up almost completely, now, and Shawn realizes they’re hungry only when Cory points towards the eating area of the museum, with a variety of food trucks and tables to sit and hide from the sun when it’s too hot to stand right underneath it like Shawn is now.

They settle for corn dogs because it’s a food Shawn can eat almost any day. There’s a joke or two about how the museum is so fancy and clean but there’s a corn dog truck right outside, and then they’re sitting by the grass and eating and just talking about anything.

“What’s your favorite thing about noon?”

“Huh?” Shawn looks up from their food. Cory’s done with his corndog and is now resting back with his elbows holding him up, and the sun makes him glow. “What do you mean?”

“Like,” he sits up. “Earlier you told me about twilight. Now it’s noon and the sun’s all the way up. What’s your favorite thing about the sun being all the way up?”

“Oh,” Shawn says, smiling with their whole body. Their palms rub against the grass happily. They shrug and look up, squinting at the sun. “Well, I don’t know. There’s little to no shadows when the sun is that high. I mean, it’s the highest we’ll ever see it, right? And so everything is just—bright.”

“Yeah,” Cory looks around. The small attempt at a park that the museum has on its sidewalk really brings justice to a day as clear as that one.

Shawn bites at their food again, then steals a look at Cory. “It’s nice. It’s hard to feel down when it’s noon.”

Cory’s smile at that observation only makes Shawn’s ribs close in further into themselves. Then, the boy perks up in an instant.

“Shit,” he exclaims. “It’s noon. Fuck, I almost forgot!”

It rarely ever happens that Cory swears. Shawn likes to think he got that from them. Topanga says and has always said that cursing is bad for the soul, so they’re probably right.

“What’s wrong with noon?” Shawn asks, amused. Cory is already standing up and dusting away some dirt and grass from his pants before pulling Shawn up by their sleeve and tugging in direction to the museum.

“Nothing’s wrong with noon,” he explains. “We just need to get in line for your present.”

Shawn stops and makes Cory stop with themm.

“Please tell me you didn’t buy me anything. Don’t pull a Cory.”

Cory rolls his eyes. “I didn’t.”

“Then, where are we going?”

A beat. “Okay, so, I _technically_ didn’t buy you anything. It’s not a thing. It’s an experience.”

Shawn grimaces. “This isn’t a, like, bachelor party sort of thing, right?”

“What?” Cory says, his voice escalating an octave. Red crawls up his neck and cheeks. “No, god, shut up. Can you just trust me?”

“Just tell me what it is.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Shawn, stop.”

Cory turns again and grabs Shawn by the forearm gently to push through the sea of people that are now flooding the museum. Not knowing makes Shawn uneasy at the stomach, like they’re about to regret having had that corn dog, but there’s something about the motion—Cory’s touch, even over the fabric, and how he’s all but shoving people out of the way like he’s going into battle yet still never letting go of them.

Frustration overcomes Shawn and they shake their head lightly as Cory circles a corner and enters a second building of the facilities. They need to keep it together.

Just about three turns and five stairs later, Cory stands proud in front of a building and Shawn bends on their knees behind him. They both take a minute to examine their surroundings before Cory nods and says:

“I think this is it.”

“Didn’t you think the last place was it?” Complains Shawn, regaining their breath.

“Well, it looked like it.”

“Cor, it was a restroom.”

Cory opens his mouth, then closes it and shrugs in defeat. A laugh escapes Shawn before they can change it from a giggle to something more manly, more—well, not giggly. Cory looks at them for only a moment and Shawn believes there’s something on their face. His eyes are fixated on theirs. It makes them nervous, not knowing what Cory’s thinking. Those are the moments where they wish they were true mindreaders.

(They then think that if mindreading works both ways, then it wouldn’t be as convenient for their current situation.)

“Cory,” Shawn calls, finally.

“Yeah?”

“Present?”

The boy snaps out of his trance and nods quickly, turning his back on Shawn once again to face the building. Shawn shakes their head, smiling at what now is the back of Cory’s head. He says:

“Right, yes. This is the place. And in—” He looks down at his wrist watch ( _when did Cory get a wrist watch?_ ) and nods again. “—three minutes, those gates are gonna open, and your mind’s gonna be blown.”

Shawn breathes and wills their nerves to go away.

They busy themselves talking about a reading assignment and _Can’t you tell your dad to just give us a different book, Shawnie?_ and _You would hate this assignment even if the book was different, Cor_ and _You’re the most boring son of a teacher I’ve met, Hunter_ and laughter, and laughter, and laughter.

And then, the gates open. There are people filing in that Shawn didn’t even notice were waiting, and an announcement says through the speakers:

“Neag Planetarium. 1 PM. From Earth to the Universe.”

The monotonous voice continues to repeat the sentences as it fades to the back of Shawn’s mind. They should be moving, one figures, since the voice also announces that everyone with a ticket should be taking their seats and Cory is holding two pieces of paper in his hand and looking back at them with a nervous smile.

It’s been a recurring wish of Shawn’s, going to the planetarium. As they grew older, however, it became more trivial, less important, almost sliding to the back of their mind forever as the more urgent and pressing wishes—those regarding high school, and dates, and finding a place to spend the night—became the focus. Where it was first a matter of not having enough money or anyone to take them, going to the planetarium became to Shawn a far-off wonder, something to do “when they had time”.

They didn’t think anyone would remember. With a pair of eyes on them, Shawn should have known that Cory always does.

 _The part that is grand_ , they think. Cory dares to reach for their hand—not their fingers, but just around the wrist—and Shawn allows themself to be taken down by it. They take Cory’s love in any way it comes and they let it paint new constellations wherever he touches them.

It’s enough.

Excited whispers surround Shawn and it’s an environment that’s almost similar to taking seats before the beginning of a movie, but it feels completely different. There’s the excitement of a new experience and the way the room is colder and wider than that of a movie theatre. There’s Cory by their side, but there’s no popcorn; just their hands, still almost entangled, but not quite.

Shawn spots families with kids and old men and women and teenagers and couples and children on a school trip. They all take seats surrounding them. The feeling of companionship as they’re about to see something new is so overwhelming, they don’t even catch themself as they let their head rest easy on Cory’s shoulder.

Cory doesn’t notice, doesn’t mind, doesn’t move. The music starts, the room grows darker, and a single star shines on the ceiling. Shawn is overpowered by the knowledge that they won’t be as happy as they are right then for a very long time. They’re at peace with that.

It’s an hour and a half of planets and constellations and satellites swimming past them in the imaginary space that is projected in front of their eyes, above their heads. Shawn smiles for ninety minutes straight and listens like they don’t already know most of what they’re hearing, and their eyes go from here to there to make sure they register every single detail, every single invisible flaw and new piece of information to store forever.

It’s the minute eighty-seven when Shawn tears their eyes away from the stars for the first time since they sat down. They tip their head away from Cory’s shoulder as the narrator talks about the Universe and how vast it is, how dangerous, how violent and unknown.

“Despite all that we have learned,” says the deep voice of a man. “many of the greatest questions about the Universe remain unanswered.”

Shawn looks at Cory and Cory looks back at them, confused. The smile never drops from his face, even as Shawn’s eyes anchor onto his like they’re drowning.

“From our vantage point,” the voice says. “On a pale blue planet, orbiting an undistinguished star, far from the centre of our galaxy—”

They study the curve of Cory’s jaw, the way he tilts his head and watches gently, how he always seems to be smiling, even when he’s not. How the stars are kept in him, peeking out from the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“We are truly privileged to be able to look out and seek the answers to these grand questions of existence.”

The lights start to go down, and Shawn kisses him because it’s dark, because the stars are the only ones looking, because they won’t get a second chance. They kiss him on a whim, with their weight shifting forward and their lips connecting to his like they had been meaning to do so for an excruciatingly long time. They kiss him with their hand on Cory’s jaw and the tip of their fingers almost touching his hair.

The music quiets to a stop, and Shawn kisses, and kisses, and kisses.

The room empties and the air stills. Cory kisses back.

Shawn remembers vaguely, with Cory’s hand sliding quickly to the back of their neck and finding their hair, a number of times in their life where they felt like they would never live to thank Cory enough with words of actions for being their friend. It was almost as if that friendship left them forever in debt.

As Cory smiles into the kiss, they think that maybe they found their way of repaying him.

They’re startled and pushed apart by the interruption of a new monotonous voice blasting through the speakers and making them return to the real world, on Earth, in an empty planetarium.

“We ask that you empty the premises as soon as the show is over. Thank you.”

The sentence is repeated three times. Cory looks at Shawn and Shawn looks at Cory and there’s the small possibility of tension, of doubt, but it fades. They burst into laughter, heads thrown back and faces lighting up the room.

They empty the premises, then, because Cory might not be as predictable as he was until that morning, but he’s a good citizen and a well-raised gentleman. Shawn takes his hand because they feel like it’s allowed, now, even if just for the evening. They walk closer than they did before and they’re not talking, not yet, but the dopey smiles make enough of a conversation.

Shawn takes in the museum one last time as they make their way outside. It’s 3 PM and the sun is tilting but still bright. They don’t wanna go home, not yet. Not when Cory isn’t letting go of their hand.

As some sort of unspoken arrangement, they find a spot in the grass instead of walking straight towards the car. They sit, they look at each other, and Shawn looks up at the sky. It’s beautiful, the way they can look up and close their eyes and just feel the warmth on their skin like there isn’t a single thing to rush about in the world. They breathe slowly, peacefully, like nobody’s watching.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Cory says quietly, almost like he’s afraid to disrupt their calm.

Shawn hums. “I love this.”

“Yeah. Me too,” says Cory. Shawn opens their eyes and meets his, then. The new silence they walk into is loaded but nice, gentle, kind. They smile.

“Thanks for today,” Shawn says, if only to say anything at all. “I had a really good time, Cor.”

Cory shrugs. “Anytime, Shawnie,” he says easily. “You deserve everything you want.”

A smile tugs at the corners of Shawn’s mouth. They turn and lie back so their head is resting on Cory’s crossed legs. His hand finds their hair. It’s a common position—recurrent, easy.

Shawn looks up at Cory and breathes before saying: “So, about that kiss…”

Cory purses his lips, fingers carding softly through their hair. “That kiss,” he echoes.

“Did it, uh—” Shawn finds a spot in the middle of Cory’s eyes, wrinkles their nose, smiles shakily. “Was it okay?”

“I know you’re not asking me if you’re a good kisser,” Cory deadpans. Shawn rolls their eyes and sits up, turning to face him as their ears turn red.

“That’s not what I mean,” they say. Cory cocks his head as they fumble with words. “Like—If I did that again sometime, would you—”

Cory looks around quickly before leaning in and kissing them. It’s short-lived, sweet, refreshing. The words melt in Shawn’s mouth as they kiss back, chasing forward when Cory pulls away.

He puts on a thoughtful expression with his finger on his chin, then nods.

“Yeah, I could get used to that.”

And he does: he kisses Shawn under a tree, behind a food truck, in the car, in the fire escape, under the sun and the moon and the stars. Cory holds Shawn’s hand and hugs them from behind and lets them borrow a sweater or ten.

A polaroid of Cory reading poetry sits on Shawn’s nightstand and one of Shawn’s poems—one about twilight and noon and moonlit kisses—is kept safely in Cory’s desk, next to the planetarium tickets.

Shawn kisses Cory so much they grow used to it, but it never ceases to make their chest bloom. They don’t take it for granted—they just take it. They take, and take, and take, and Cory gives them love time and time again like it’s only right that he does so.

And they kiss, yes, and they get used to it. And it’s like twilight and noon and midnight and moonlight and sunrises. And Shawn talks about it, about Cory, about love, and it makes their eyes sparkle.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah <3
> 
> char if you’re seeing this i love you


End file.
